Jo Harvelle: The Adventures Thereof
by Port-of-Seas
Summary: A quick study of some of the adventures Jo might have had while hunting solo.


The fight was the worst they had ever had. After the Winchesters left, Ellen pulled out all the stops; just closed down the roadhouse and tore into Jo like the fury hell hath not. There were bitter slings back and forth: Jo was irresponsible and idealistic, Ellen was overprotective and controlling. Ash had locked himself in his room during the verbal throwdown. The levee had broken, all hell had been let loose, and that was it. Jo marched up to her room, packed her bags, and left.

Jo watched her mother shrink in the rearview mirror, her face a strange mix of anger and hurt. She wanted to turn around, run back into her arms, sob and beg Ellen to stop fighting and just, please, could they sit down and talk about Dad and toss back a couple of beers, listening to the jukebox and discussing those renovations they always wanted to do to the Roadhouse but never really got around to. But she didn't. She'd just be walking back into the same miserable trap, where they fought and made up, fought and made up, until they were both ragged and worn thin.

So she kicked the car into drive and sped off, throwing up dust behind her as she greeted the horizon that had always called to her over the clank and clamor of her home.

o-o-o

The salt and burn was trickier when she didn't have Sam and Dean at her back, but easier than she'd thought it might be for her first job. Getting the people in the town to open up about the recent disappearances wasn't too hard. All she had to do was bat her eyelashes a couple of times, talk about how very excited she was to be writing this article for Weekly World News, and they were open books.

The ghost, though... that was another problem. She had underestimated the difficulty of digging up the grave. Her back screamed, ber muscles burning as she struggled to shovel away pound after pound of dirt. Her heart pounded from the exertion and the fear of the ghost that was potentially aware of her actions. At least, until the ghost knocked her against a tree and everything went fuzzy for a minute. When she came to, it hovered over her, snarling like a wild animal before disappearing in a flicker of pale light. She blinked, glancing up to see the barkeeper, a boyfriend of one of the missing persons. Francis, Frank... Fred! Good old Fred from the bar, who appeared to have taken the hint she'd dropped about ghosts and done his homework. God, she was going to buy him a beer when all this was over.

o-o-o

Jo had a thing for bars. Always had, probably always would. She'd always figured it came from growing up in one, so it was no surprise when she ended up working in one again. It had started with a cursed lamp of all things, then she'd glanced in her accounts and realized just how close to broke she was. It was hard to find time to hustle pool and arcade games when she was too busy researching cases. So she picked up a job in a bar, mostly to pick information from the locals. Then, when the case was done and the cursed lamp was destroyed... she decided to stick around, just long enough to stock up her bank account. Then Sam Winchester showed up, knocked her out, tied her up, and baited her about her father. She'd thought she cared for the Winchesters like a brother but... the sting of truth about her father's death was still fresh, and she wanted nothing more than to kill him then and there. She strained against the ropes and the gag, but it was no use. Try as she might, she was in no position to take out the six-foot-a-million, ten-thousand-pound Sam Winchester.

Then Dean showed up, and Sam was possessed, and that torch she carried for the older Winchester flared back to life just long enough for her to stumble stupidly out into the dark, uncertain of what she was doing ot why she kept getting into these situations when the Winchesters came around. She managed to save Dean, only to see him run after Sam, predictably enough. Metaphorically speaking, he'd taken the torch and plunged its still smoldering embers into the water. Typical.

So she wandered back to the bar, cleaned up Sam's mess, and crashed in her room in the back. The next morning she had one last flirt with the bartender Mike -cause hey, torch or not, he was cute-, turned in her notice, and hit the road again.

She really needed to get out of bars.

o-o-o

Werewolf in Phoenix, wraith in Laredo, a needy ghost clinging to a potentially cursed statue in Iowa City... Jo lost herself in the job. It got easier with every job, but only when she numbed herself to everything else. She didn't pick up the phone when her mom and Ash called, and she certainly didn't call back. Luckily for her, the Winchesters didn't have her number, so it was just her, the road, and the creepy ass sons of bitches she lived to kill. It wasn't normal, it certainly wasn't what her mother had wanted for her, but in a bizarre way, it was the most satisfied she'd felt in her entire life.

o-o-o

Davis was a damsel in distress, plain and simple. He'd gotten involved in his cousin's occult mess, and had been mighty grateful when she'd cleaned it up and dragged his ass out of the fire-literally. To show his gratitude, he'd opened up his couch to her, and cooked dinner. Her carefully honed instincts warned her of his intentions, but he was neither old enough to be her father, nor was he copping out with a cheap six pack, a pizza, and a lame pick-up line. They had shrimp florentine, which was basically a fancy way to say shrimp and spinach, but it was good. Between that, a bottle of wine, and candlelit conversation, Jo felt herself melting just a little bit, but years of bar-work had hardened her to any advances.

When he turned on the R.E.O. Speedwagon, though, she was completely gone.

The next morning, she showered and dressed. She didn't sneak away before he woke up, which was probably good because, as it turned out, Davis made a mean omlette. But that was where it ended. Oh, he asked if she'd be interested in sticking around for a little while, maybe let him give her a tour of the town, but the road was calling and, without the weird to attract her, Jo's feet had to keep on moving.

Suddenly, Dean Winchester made a little more sense.

o-o-o

Jo had had her share of cuts and bruises throughout her long life, leaving scars in the forms of little white and pink nicks. Her first serious injury came from a demon in Cincinnatti with a long, wicked ritual knife. She'd been after the children the bitch had kept locked up in the corner. It should have been a clean getaway. Rescue the kids today, exorcise the bitch tomorrow... but she hadn't counted on the demonic backup. She'd had to take it out, but the evil bitch had noticed when her little crony didn't show up for the ritual. A suspicious evil bitch was about three times as awful as a regular evil bitch.

The demon had taken her from behind and slung her against the wall, the contents of her pockets flying; an odd thing to notice the instant before her body collided with hard stone, an uncomfortable thump followed by heavy ringing pounding in her head. Luckily, one of the kids had seen her flask of holy water fall, and got the picture. The demon was on top of her, snarling some shit about a blood sacrifice and how Jo was still innocent enough, with pure enough intentions to continue the ritual for whatever she wanted -clearly this demon did not understand the warped creature that was a hunter. Not that it mattered.

The oldest of the kids chose that moment to splash a stream of hold water over the bitch. While she was howling and sizzling, Jo grabbed the flash and told the kid how to get out. By that time, the demon was recovering, and Jo didn't have a snowball's shot in hell of getting her exorcism book.

Thinking fast, she jumped on the demon, dumping the remains of the flask down her throat. She grimaced at the stench of burning flesh, but took the opportunity to lunge for her fallen book while the evil bitch flailed. She was already feeling woozy from her knock against the wall, and she prayed to whatever was listening -supernatural or not- that she was pronouncing the Latin properly when a sudden pain twisted in her side. She cried out, feeling the bitch's weight on top of her, dragging the blade down a rib, but she kept reciting the exorcism, even as the tang of blood seeped into her mouth. Finally, with a screech, the demon left the woman's dead body, which collapsed on Jo like the sack of meat that it was.

Jo gasped, struggling against the blood and the weight and the injuries that were probably worse than she could deal with. She reached for her phone, but it was beyond repair. No calling for help, not tonight.

She gasped again, struggling to at least free herself from the demon's weight, when footsteps echoed through the near-empty room. Not another demon, please God, she didn't stand a chance at another one... but it wasn't a demon. It was one of the children... Tyler. Six years old. She'd spoken to Tyler's mother yesterday... only yesterday? Seemed like months since she'd talked to her mother, that day they had the fight... or was it Tyler's mother?

Tyler was white as a sheet, and Jo didn't blame him for running away from the sight of his tormentor and his savior on the ground, one dead, one dying, both soaked in Jo's precious blood. She did, however, mentally thank him when the paramedics arrived twenty minutes later. Then she blacked out.

o-o-o

When Jo came to, she couldn't move; not without igniting a nasty fire along her side. That was sure to leave one hell of an impressive scar; way better than that time she'd shot at an ice-covered metal Coke ad and the bb had ricocheted off the sheet of metal and into her leg. That was nothing to this monster.

On her bedside table were half a dozen cards, a tray of fudge, and an envelope with some cash in it. Thank yous from the people she'd helped. It didn't happen often, but on the rare occasion it did, a little thank you went a long way.

Jo spent that Christmas in the hospital, watching A Christmas Story too many times from her hard bed, flipping through dated magazines and humming Christmas carols. It was lonely, but the fudge was good, as were the pain meds. At some point, she thought she might have called her mom and left a message. Not much, just a Merry Christmas and a promise that she was okay, and that she loved her.

Two days later, and against the wishes of her doctors, she was on the road again.

o-o-o

Three ghosts in Wisconsin, right at the beginning of autumn, and Jo felt herself beginning to relax. Beautiful country, lots of wholesome food and nice weather after a long hunt in the southeast... she couldn't help curling up in her backseat, her warm socks toasting her toes as she curled up in her blankets and cracked open a trashy paperback. For a minute, life was good.

Then the ghost that was supposed to be dead banged against her car, pretty much ruining that. She would later admit to screaming -only a little bit- and jumping out of the car to shoot it with her saltgun, nightclothes and all, but not to the part where she'd been parked just outside of an off-the-road diner, or that a certain tough bastard whose name began with Ru and ended with Fus had been on the hunt alongside her, or that he'd come out of the diner at that very moment, a smarmy, snarky smirk on his face.

"Well, Ms. Harvelle," he chuckled. "If I didn't know better I'd say those were little tweety-birds on your pants."

Bastard.

"This some kind of girly fashion trend I don't know about?"

Double bastard.

o-o-o

The next time she tried to crack open that trashy harlequin, her phone rang. It had been so long since someone had actually called her that she'd dropped the paperback and fumbled to flip it open.

"H-hello?"

"Is this Jo Harvelle?" a meek voice squeaked.

"Yes, who is this?"

"I... I'm a friend of Tom's. Tom Resnik?"

Tom... Tom...

"Oh, right, uh... the, ah, the leucrotta in Amarillo?"

"He... he never mentioned what it was."

"It was a leucrotta. Um, can I help you?"

"Tom... he mentioned you could maybe help me with a problem I've been having. I'm an accountant, and some weird things have been happening in my building. The kind of weird that Tom said you might be able to help."

Huh... so this was what it was like to have a reputation.

"Be right there."

o-o-o

There was a point, after too many hunts, when Jo began to envy people the lives she and her kind provided. The ignorance they could feign for the sake of comfort, the steady, predictable schedule that, if a little mundane, could at least provide some stability, the dinners with families... the warmth of a familiar bed, and the love between family and friends.

On nights like that she tried to make phone calls. Nobody picked up, on the occasions when she had the courage to let it ring all the way. That was when she left the tv on when she slept, to feign the sounds of an old, creaky bar at night.

o-o-o

One night, Jo sat down and began compiling a list of the hunts she had completed. Werewolf, demon, wraith, leucrotta, golem, banshee, kelpie, cursed objects, and ghosts... lots and lots of ghosts. She blinked, realizing all of a sudden that she couldn't actually recall all of her hunts. There were so many.

Then she tried counting all her new scars. It was impressive, but not terribly interesting.

So she tried to make a list of all the people she'd met... but that wasn't worth trying. She could at least name all the partners she'd had in the last... it would be two years in three months.

Two years.

o-o-o

She called the roadhouse, but the line was gone. Ash's was gone, too, along with her mother. It seemed all the numbers had changed since she'd left. Why?

She swallowed, but put away her phone and opened her laptop. There was a witch somewhere in this town, and she needed to put her own worries aside and hunt him or her down.

o-o-o

"So... what, you just... travel from town to town? Don't you ever want to settle down?"

Jo cracked a smile, tracing the long, pink scar along her palm -yet another souvenier from yet another evil son of a bitch. The girl she'd just saved, Mara, showed all the signs of a girl standing at a fork in the road. To hunt or not to hunt, that was the question she seemed to think Jo could answer.

"Someday... but I think part of the problem was that I was settled too long."

"So why do you do it?"

"Listen, if you want me to say revenge and how it makes me feel all better, that's not it. I do this because my dad did it, and it's in my blood."

Mara sighed.

"Is that a hint?"

Jo reached out and squeezed the girl's hand.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Mara... but a little closure goes a lot further than hunting, no matter how many ghosts you take out."

o-o-o

Finally, she sucked it up and called Bobby Singer. If anyone could find her mom, it was him.

As it turned out, they'd been in contact this whole time, ever since... well, now she knew why Ash, at least, had never picked up any of her calls. Poor bastard. If only she'd said something more... or at least said goodbye before she'd left... But he was gone, along with the roadhouse. Her home.

Her mother was in Pittsburg. Jo was in Anaheim. They would meet somewhere in the middle.

o-o-o

They took their time, pondering what to say to one another before they met. A skinwalker, a cursed necklace, a poltergeist, and she was in Kansas city, in some cheap motel, flipping through her latest harlequin, when there was a knock on the door. Steeling herself for a fight, Jo carefully set aside the book and gave the room another cursory glance, just in case, to make sure it was clean. It hardly seemed the moment to worry, but there was a part of a person's heart that would always quake at the idea of presenting one's mother with a messy room, especially when it had been two years since you'd exchanged more than distant phone messages.

She opened the door, and her mother was there... looking like Christmas and Easter and birthdays and warm dinners and cool lemonade, fresh-made beds and washed glasses, classic rock and sandwiches with the crusts cut off. There were a couple more lines on her face. These last few years had been hard on everyone. The demons were getting worse, and it was more than they could do to even keep it under control. But, in spite of it all, she did not look like a hardened hunter. She looked like Ellen Harvelle, her mother.

"Hey, mom," she breathed, choking a little bit on her words. She didn't have the time to let the situation grow awkward, though, before she found herself in a spine-crushing, perfect embrace. And if a few tears slipped down her face, well, her mom had a tight grip, it'd be amazing if that was all she squeezed out of her.

They ordered pizza and sat around the motel room, snacking on it and eating beer while watching a soap that, as it turned out, they had both come to enjoy. They told one another of the adventures and messes they'd gotten themselves into in the time they'd been apart. Of course, Jo didn't mention Davis or any of the other men she'd met, and she was proud to be able to count them all on her fingers, and when it came to some of her more harrowing and death-defying situations, she might have skimmed over some of the juicier details, but she had no doubt her mother was doing the same in some situations.

Ellen was a little irritated to hear that Jo had worked with Rufus, and disappointed that nobody had heard from the Winchesters.

After that, a few things changed on the hunt. Jo went from ordering one to two queens when she took a room. She traded out her small car for her mother's with just a bit more trunkspace. They chose jobs together, hunted together. It was nice, having backup; someone to stitch you up after a job. It was nice feeling like she was home again for the first time in two years.

Most of all, it was nice to have her mother back.


End file.
